Out of Practice
by Miasma-Shadow
Summary: The assassin Malvae reconnects with her bard training. She has chosen the target herself and seeks to come back into the war with the Chantry by slaying an Orlesian Chantry supporter in Kirkwall.


The dressing room was rather resplendent, the sumptuous couches and ornate chairs flaunting the wealth of the owner. As did the clothes that were displayed on various racks around the room. The baroque, full length mirror was tilted so that Malvae could see herself from head to toe, but she was looking at the reflection of the garment behind her rather than her own body. There was no need to preen herself, to check for blemishes and flaws, she knew there was nothing for her to be concerned over. It was not arrogance or delusion, she had been told as much on several occasions from people who never failed to point out her many flaws. Malvae knew she was desirable, whether she was covered in blood or in the most expensive perfume from Orlais. The bards there had lamented her lack ego and self satisfaction in regards to her body and she had answered them with a scowl.

The assassin never called herself a bard because she was not so restricted as that. She had bard training, she knew the rules of the Game, but she was not the best of players. Malvae had been sent to the bards to learn how to improve her weaknesses, but she did not need to make them strengths. She was still an assassin. All the bards did was make her better at it.

Well, they had once. Malvae did look at herself now, her blue eyes roaming the form reflected before her. She was not displeased with what she saw on a physical level, ten years of working for the Hand had not diminished her beauty - in some ways she was stronger, better formed and knew how to carry herself better because she knew her body and its limits. What displeased her was the scared Dalish asha that had surfaced too often in this city. She wanted to blame that infernal da'assan but the truth was the Dalish part of her had been the one in the Wilderness lamenting her mistakes. She had been the one to allow her anger to flourish, the oath of the Dales burning in her heart. It was as if that one moment of anger three years ago had undone all the work of the previous seven! In one moment of madness she had erased all of her training? Furia had clearly wanted to find that out, so here she was, exploring the damage she had wrought on herself.

There was nothing wrong with her Dalish sensibilities but when they interfered with her work? If this city had taught her anything it was to remind her that she had once known much of what it had to teach her. She did not mind re-learning, but the sooner she remembered what was lost the sooner she could -actually- learn new skills. Reconnaissance was something she had been taught in Orlais and there were many ways to get information. Malvae had forgotten this. She had rejected it because she thought herself above it. Furia had taught her these lessons. He had brought her low. He had sent her to do things that he knew were out of her comfort zone. Had she gone through all of that only to have to learn it all over again in Kirkwall?! When there were other skills to be honed here. As Fen'revas had said, setting up contacts, bargaining and blackmailing, these were things she was unfamiliar with, things they never bothered to teach her as a bard because a roaming da'mi did not need such lessons. She never stayed in one place long enough to need it and then when she had she was with another member of the Hand.

Like Reynard, in Nevarra.

Malvae turned away from the mirror and to the "costume" she was supposed to wear. She smirked, a familiar look to those who knew her, the expression she wore before she conformed. Tavius had beaten it out of her the first time they met. Reynard had fucked it out of her, and Furia had... she still did not know what their leader had done to quell Malvae's obstinate and petulant attitude. Since then the assassin had begun with a smirk then put on her mask. Then she had fulfilled her duty.

To feel that smirk on her lips emboldened her, so she took the outfit from the rack and slipped into it.

It was like putting on that Bardic Mask again and though her Dalish self abhorred the whore, she knew what she had to do. There had been a reason Malvae had not blinked when she and Fen had been in the whore's room that had looked like a Chantry. She had seen it all before. She was desensitized to it. It had been theshem touching him she had despised. And what a hypocrite was she? Many times she had been ordered to use these methods to get information or kill a target. Rarely did she ever have to go beyond a bit of fondling (and that had been enough! No, TOO MUCH!) but tonight she had made sure that was not the case. The Dalishasha needed to be suppressed. It was time to be the weapon Furia needed her to be.

The slip of material was sheer and mauve, the colour of this Orlesian's coat of arms. This she knew. She had researched her target thoroughly. She also knew he was prominent in the Chantry in Orlais and that he was extremely paranoid about being harmed. It was why he had holed himself up in his estate in Kirkwall. It was why he never left the house. It was why all of his servants were his most loyal and trusted. It was why there had been no other way to get to him.

Count Aymeric Garcés Tinéa de Arlesans had been on the Hand of Justice hitlist for years. She had tried to take him out in Val Royeaux when she was training with the bards so it seemed fitting that she use him as her Kirkwall initiation. Once she had done this, she could get on with the things Furia had sent her here to learn.

Malvae had discovered while researching this Count that he had developed a penchant for a certain type of "consort". When she had been in Orlais this had not been the case, but it seemed since his wife had sadly passed the dear old Count (who was actually forty three) had found his way inside several elven whores. And not just any elf. They simply had to be Dalish. And he knew the difference between a tattooed elvhen'alas and the vallaslin of a true Dalish. Those who had tried to fool him had left his estate bruised and bloodied.

The shem noble would call for her soon, so Malvae checked herself in the mirror once more, not really bothered by the look of the clothes she wore for she knew she'd be shedding them soon enough. The assassin had to suppress a shudder.

Since when were you so squeamish? The Wilds have turned you soft. You used to kill these shem in cold blood without a second thought. Your elgar is already tainted, so what does it matter? Your People will never understand your sacrifice but you know you do it so they have their liberty, and that is all that matters.

"This is Justice." She whispered to the Shadow. The Shadow grinned back at her in the mirror; a cold, malevolent smile that comforted the assassin. Somewhere in her unconscious the Dalish asha screamed "We will not submit!", but the Shadow merely shrugged and said, "What you call submission, I call 'tactics'."

This was how she had walked away from elves being murdered in Gallows. Once she had not been able to do that. That had almost cost her everything. Never again would she submit to her weaknesses.

What about dar'sa? He promised dar'sa... he said he would teach me...

That was an argument and possible broken arm (or worse) to look forward to another time. For now she had to see to this Chantry loving, paranoid shem.

Malvae did not need to be told where to go, but she could not seem like she knew where she was going either, that would be far too suspicious. Again, she had done her research. She knew the layout of the estate. She knew where the Count awaited her. Once left alone in the anteroom to his suite of rooms she looked at herself in the mirror again. For once she had not died her hair. She had stopped doing it recently, another sign she was returning to her old self. Her red tones and blue eyes with her bronzed (though much paler skin since the Wilds had stripped her of her colour), smooth skin were an alluring combination. Malvae was a small woman, by human standards, but she was not devoid of flattering curves. Her hips and breasts fit perfectly into the sheer garment, though there was far too much skin on display. This man was gauche. Like many Orlesians they wanted their whores to look nothing like their wives.

There was another reason for this though. There was also nowhere to hide any weapons. No poison. No blades. Nothing. If not a Dalish elf then a dwarf whore would suffice, for the Count was over six feet, with a wide barrelling chest and trained with his Chevaliers. He could overwhelm this diminutive creature.

Malvae heard him bellow "enter", so she schooled her features to look demure and pushed open the oak, carved doors.

The Count was indeed huge. He sat on his chaise longue, naked and oiled with only a sheet to cover his manhood. Whether he had been with whores all day or had just been rubbed and oiled did not matter - Malvae knew from the look of him that he was ready for her. This was not a man that liked to pleasure his woman, but rather climax as many times as he could before throwing her out of bed. She would have only one opportunity to do this, she saw that much in the first few moments of seeing him in the flesh.

For a shem he was not ugly, his hair was long and sandy coloured and he had a cultured beard and sharp eyes. It was odd seeing a shem with a hairless body, but this man's vanity seemed to extend even that deeply (or shallowly, depending on how you looked at it and valued it she supposed). He beckoned her closer, his grey eyes fixing her with a suspicious glare, though his lips quirked in a salacious smile that bespoke his carnality. And what man would not need such diversions when he was too much of a coward to leave his estate? Malvae wanted to tell him that but instead she stepped forward, her gaze downcast and her hands pulling at the shift to make her seem more inexperienced.

He had asked for one of the "young ones" after all. Malvae was thirty now but shemcould never tell an elf's age and she had a young face, even for an elvhen.

"Viens ici, jolie petite chose ..." He said. Malvae knew enough Orlesian to obey and once she was in grabbing distance his hammy hand grasped her thin arm and yanked her forward.

"What is your name, whore?" He demanded, his self satisfied grin was something Malvae would delight in wiping off his shem face... Strange...she felt no anger at this, only anticipation.

Its the Death you anticipate, not the fucking. No shem can do what your elvhen mages have done for you... Malvae shuddered with pleasure at the thought of her elvhen lovers... craving them more than she had done in three years. The Count thought the shudder was for him so he pulled her into his lap and gripped her face roughly.

"I asked you a question." He growled, though it was arousal and not anger that transformed his voice into something more animalistic.

"Malvae, My Lord. My name is Malvae." She said quietly, though she shifted in his lap so his stiff shaft was pressed against her buttocks. He grunted, clearly he approved for he moved her himself so she was straddling him as he lay back. Malvae took that as her signal to begin.

Slowly she pulled the shift over her head and his eyes roamed her nakedness hungrily, devouring every inch of her skin but refraining from touching her. He seemed to focus his attention on her vallsilin, something that roused the Dalish pride in her but was quickly suppressed by her greater need.

This is my rebirth. My path to power. My retribution. I will kill him and Furia will know I killed him and he will know I will do anything for this cause.

To divert him from her elvhen blood writing, she manoeuvred herself so the tip of his manhood pressed against her wet entrance. That changed his focus and Malvae was glad. She was not here to kiss him and be his wife, she was here to fuck him then kill him. Since he was a selfish lover it boded well. She would not be here for long.

As it turned out, he took a liking to the bronze skinned Dalish, so much so Malvae was wondering if he was going to let her leave at all. The worst thing was not having him inside or her, or even being filled with his seed (which she would certainly take herbs for, she would bare no seth'lin!), but rather being the object of his 'fetish'. He saw this as 'wrong' and 'debauched', but not because she was a whore - because she was Dalish. Her anger flared a little (thank the Creators it was only a little!) when he pounded her and punctuated each thrust with, "Submit-you-Dalish-whore!"

Apparently she was not the only one that was to submit though, for a part of his Dalish whore fantasy was to be dominated -temporarily- by her. Once he had deemed her frail and beaten, Malvae even giving him a few tears to sweeten the deal, he asked her to tie him to the bed.

"T-t-tie you up my Lord? But I..." He slapped her and she went sprawling across the floor. Her face was hidden from his view and there was no mirror to betray her; but the Shadow, the Fury and the Dalish shared the expression on Malvae's face.

One of infinite rage and murder.

When she staggered back to him, holding her swollen face he tossed her the velvet ropes he wanted her to use then lied down on the bed, spread-eagled. The Count continued to tug on his come covered shaft while Malvae pretended to gather her wits. A wolfish and cruel grin etched itself onto his chiselled features, a look of lust and anticipation in his eyes. Slowly she tied his ankles to the bedposts, then she took the hand not occupied with his cock and tied that up as well. When he reluctantly but playfully gave her his last free limb and smiled teasingly, but still feigning fear.

I am just a harmless elvhen asha, shem. That is all you see... all you see for now...

When he was secured and at her mercy, even then it was not quite the right time to end him. This murder needed to be clean. There could be no stabbing wound, no blow to the head. The servants had to believe the little Dalish girl had nothing to do with their masters demise, otherwise she'd be run through with the sword of a Chevalier.

Climbing atop the Count she sheathed his throbbing shaft inside of her and slowly began to writhe on top on him. Malvae's hands were splayed on his chest, her intent gaze locked with his eyes. The Orlesian grunted crude curses in his own tongue, something about being a naughty Chantry boy and being taken advantage of by the Dalish whore. Apparently she was going to be put to death for such a thing, Malvae pausing for a moment when he uttered that. It may not have been true but she heard the intent, he wanted to kill her. He wanted to kill all heathen elvhen.

That was enough.

Malvae lowered her sweating body onto him, taking all of him inside of herself, forgetting her promises and her oaths and her pride. When she leaned forward her eyes where closed, apparently in the height of her pleasure and climaxing onto him. Her hands caressed his chest and moved up his body, her left hand finally settling on his neck under his chin (around his throat) and her right hand over his nose and mouth.

She opened her eyes at the same instant he began to struggle.

Malvae grinned. Wickedly. There an assassin in the room with him, how had the Maker let that happen? How indeed. Maybe there was no Maker after all...

"You are a coward." She said quietly, her tone dead, almost bored. She felt his breath against her hand, sucking against her palm, desperately trying to draw breath; she only used her other hand to hold him still. Thus trussed up he was at her mercy. She was stronger than she looked and now he knew it. His eyes were already starting to glaze over. It would not be long now.

"You do not deserve my da'mi." She told him, a slight flicker of fury in her sapphire gaze. His softening cock slowly slid out of her and she sighed with relief. The shem was limp of shaft and almost limp of body. His death throes were restricted by his bindings but she still felt jolts of pleasure in seeing the life drain from his eyes. It was a bloodless death but she got more joy from it then she ever would from a shem's cock.

"Ma halam." She whispered in his ear, then a moment later she took her hand from his mouth.

His chest was flat and still and his gaze devoid of life. She did not bother to close his eyes. She wanted him to see Fen'Harel when he came for him.

However, she did untie him and toss the velvet ropes into the closet. Then she forced herself to shed tears and when she felt her broken whore's mask back on her face she began to scream.

Guards and servants rushed in, one of the armoured Chevaliers taking her roughly by the arm; but Malvae was hysterical, screaming at them that he cried out in pain and clutched his chest and he died! He died while still inside of her! That was of course true, but the manner of his death was what they needed to believe. She cried over and over and curled up in a ball when the Chevalier finally released her. A servant girl wrapped Malvae in a blanket and said soothing words to her, all the time the assassin covering her face, distraught.

Eventually the guards decided the elf whore was telling the truth, but they refused to pay her.

"If we pay you then you are an assassin not a whore. Even if you didn't mean to, your exertions on him wore him out." The shem was apologetic and Malvae would later laugh at the irony, but for now she just nodded, dressed and was led out of the estate and taken through a secret side door.

Once she was alone in the high town alley, she grinned. A short while later she was staring at Gallows from her bedroom window, dressed in her assassin's garb and herda'mi restored to their rightful place. Malvae felt free again. Liberated. Accomplished.

"Ma emma harel..." She told Gallows, her glare intense, determined and full of malice. "The Hand of Justice has its da'mi once again."

Dar'sa... Her mind whispered. Was this dar'sa? Or did it simply mean she was ready for Tavius to finish teaching her?


End file.
